|
Mark Cunningham
nightlightnight
Mel Nichols |
||
|
|
||
| 3-5 a.m. | ||
|
I'm better off than when I scrunched in the womb: there are no
televised voices. Cells mend their walls, or exit in silence, my body
turning, winnowing its chaff. In my dream, I remember which hallway to
take to get out of the fire, though each is as dark as the others. And
I know what to say to my grandmother when I visit her in the hospital.
But soon static will start to crackle in. My grandmother has been dead
two years. A headline, a quick yellow light--consciousness will dilute.
|
||
